


Blighted Grace

by HardStansOnly



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Background Relationships, Dream are the realest friends, Hallucinations, Hearing Voices, Ill advised hiking adventures, M/M, Magic, Not Famous AU, OCs for plot - Freeform, Rituals, Sleep Deprivation, Visions in dreams, You ever feel like you're the last to know something? That's mark, and mark hates it, creepy small towns cannot be trusted, crisis of everything, mark is tired, mentions of being buried alive, mentions of human sacrifice, mild violence, some big witch shit going down, some dark-ish themes to come up, tags to update with story, technically college au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-08-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:53:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25352749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HardStansOnly/pseuds/HardStansOnly
Summary: "Home is where the heart is. Under a foot of topsoil in a peat bog. Unable to decay or breathe."
Relationships: Mark Lee/Wong Yuk Hei | Lucas
Comments: 13
Kudos: 39





	1. Voices in the Mist

**Author's Note:**

> i have no excuse for myself tbh. neo got my back but wayv still got my dick - s
> 
> translations:  
> Wǒ wúfǎ hūxī: I can't breathe  
> Bāng wǒ: Help me  
> Wǒ juédé ěxīn: I feel sick

He didn't have a name. 

At least not a name that people of the village could speak. A creature from the heavens. A creature that looked like a man, save his large wings and black eyes that were by turns cold and kind. A creature that unnerved the most pious of men and the wisest of women.

He had come down during a time of famine. 

The winter had been exceptionally cold and cruel. The snow and ice had lasted well into the spring making it impossible to plant their crops. When the grip of winter had finally passed the summer sun was upon the village and scorching the precious few plants that had survived the cold spring. The crops had died and when the water dried up grief stricken mothers buried their lifeless babies at the crossroads to appease some forgotten god. 

When He had come, the villagers fell to their knees in awe and fear. Some wailed that he brought death, that He had come to collect their souls. Others claimed he was a godling that had seen their sins and penance and was now there to judge them. The winged man did neither. Instead, he walked through the town singing with a deep tone that they felt in their bones. The notes coaxed the plants back to life in the boxes lining the huts, and the water to the wells. He walked into the fields and spoke to each shriveled stalk and vine until finally the plants came back to life. He sang into the empty stone wells, making the ground rumble until they cracked and filled with sweet tasting water.

The people named him Yukhei as they fed him to the bog.

As they pushed him deeper and deeper into the thick mud he screamed and pleaded. The plants reached up but instead of pushing the humans away they tangled in his wings drawing him down. Above him, holding beads and bones and burning herbs that made him feel sick, the priests and wise women prayed to their gods. The two people who never agreed on anything, all muttered that this was for the best. His magic would soak into the ground and their people would survive.

“ _One for the sake of many. It was why you were sent, right Yukhei? A godling to be fed back to the earth. Forgive us. Die for us._ ”

Yukhei had nearly escaped their hold but the strike of a club sent his world black. The plants curled around him, holding him fast even as the thick mud covered his body.

Water filled his lungs but he did not drown.  
Bugs crawled over his body but could not eat him.  
The acid of the bog dissolved his clothes and feathers but not his body.

In the darkness, unable to move or breathe, Yukhei could not die.

\------ **500 Years Later** \------

Mark parked his car outside of the two story house where Haechan and the rest of their friends were all moving boxes in. The seven of them had all gone in on renting the place in a small village outside of Busan. Dividing the bills and house work seven ways was a better option than any of them trying to move into a small apartment inside the city, or live on campus. Mark had originally intended to go to a university in Seoul. All of them did. But the cost of living was more than any of them could afford, even living together, never mind the added cost of school. 

Maybe it was foolish to move in with six other people but Mark was confident they could make it work. Having seven of them came with the added benefit that they could all get away with part time jobs instead of trying to go to work and school full time.

Since they won the drawing of lots, Haechan and Renjun took the master bedroom on the top floor. Jeno and Jaemin took the slightly bigger second bedroom. The two maknaes called dibs on the basement to split between them and set up their gaming area. That left Mark with the small guest bedroom. Having the smaller of the three rooms didn’t bother him much since he could fit all his stuff and still have a bit of room to move around. Besides, Mark was single and had a well documented track record of being a workaholic. As soon as classes started the following week Mark would be eyeball deep in coursework and harassing his friends to let him tutor them for credits towards his teaching degree.

To no surprise, moving things in and out of the house was miserable. Not as much as initially boxing all of his stuff to move, but still unpleasant. Mark still wasn’t sure how he had accumulated so much stuff in the two years he had been living in Haechan’s house but the whole back of his little car was stuffed full, as was the moving truck their parents had helped them pay for. 

The main source of their misery was they had moved during the dry season as the locals had called it. It was hot and muggy considering there was not a drop of rain to be found, nor would any rain be blessing them for at least another month. There was however, the slightly overwhelming smell of the bog that was less than a mile from them. The little old ladies next door who had been watching them move boxes in all morning had told them about it.

The bog was older than the town itself. It was protected by a few dozen city laws, a few more county laws and of course the ghosts that lived there. Because any good, ancient bog had to be haunted. It was some spiritual rule that Mark hated.

“Hey Mark.” Chenle’s voice cut through his thoughts as Mark arranged the boxes in his room. “Dinner is done.”

Giving a thumbs up, Mark moved the last box off his bed so he had somewhere to sleep that night. Moving boxes and furniture in the head had kicked his ass harder than he had anticipated. All Mark wanted to do now was slam a few pieces of pizza and beer before he unceramoniously passed the fuck out. Maybe shower to keep his sheets from getting gross.

Mark figured he should definitely shower.

At the table the seven of them ate pizza so greasy that it probably took a few years off their lives and washed it down with barely cold beers. Propped up on still full boxes and counters they talked about their classes as well as the jobs that they were all scheduled to start the following week. All seven of them had made sure to have jobs lined up for when they moved so that they wouldn’t have to worry about trying to scrape by after.

Haechan wanted to be a dancer with his own studio. Over the years he had already made a name for himself in all the local dance troupes but he wouldn’t be satisfied until there was a building with his name on it. The classes that weren’t dance related were going towards his business management degree so that when he _did_ get his studio, he could run it (mostly) himself. When he wasn’t in a dance studio, Haechan would work at a bookstore that was definitely haunted with Renjun.

Renjun was still undecided on what direction he wanted to go for his career. He and Haechan were tied at the hip so he had taken many of the same classes as his boyfriend. They both liked math and to dance, it was only natural. The owner of the bookstore had agreed to let both of them more or less apprentice under her so they could see the day to day tasks it took to run a business. It would give them something to do other than scare tourists between classes. 

Mark had begun to build his pool of people to tutor as credit towards his teaching degree. It was mostly fellow housemates that he tutored since it was still early in the semester. Jeno liked having a second opinion on every paper he wrote. Jisung and Chenle would end up helping _him_ with math, but they would pretend he was helping them. Renjun agreed to trade credit hours for time restocking shelves in the Very Haunted bookstore. Some of their upperclassmen friends - namely Johnny and Yuta - also started to book slots with him. Though for them, it was more so they could have a captive audience while they complained about their thesis papers.

“So Mark,” Renjun asked around a bite of pizza. “Tonight is the bog feeding. Wanna go with us?”

“The what?” Mark sucked a bit of grease laden ranch off his finger. “The fuck does that even mean?”

“I was talking to the little old ladies next door.” Renjun nodded to the kitchen window where said old ladies were watching them from the fence as if it wasn’t creepy to do so. “Every year they go into the heart of the bog and feed it.” Renjun grimaced at the swing of warm beer. “The whole village takes part apparently.”

“That’s some horror movie, cult shit no thanks.” Mark chewed through another bite of pizza trying not to stare back at the two old ladies. “I wanna get started on unpacking.”

“Aww c’mon Mark.” Haechan slumped against Mark’s back nearly sending him face first into his plate. “Come to the bog feeding. It’s a once a year thing.” Mark grumbled even as Haechan wiggled them back and forth until Mark thought he’d fall off his chair. “ _Maaaaaaaaaaaaaaa-_ ”

“ _Fine_.” Mark pushed Haechan off. “Just stop doing that before you make me sick.”

Mark still wasn’t convinced _they_ weren’t about to be fed to the bog. Not when the little old ladies, Ms. Park and Ms. Woo, showed up on their doorstep at dusk dressed in black passing out tallow candles to them. Thankfully, the ritual wasn’t complicated. At the entrance to the bog the villagers would all light their candles and follow the elders in through the bog, straight up singing. It was a carry over from the old times. Back when the area would flood or would see not a drop of water from the sky for months on end.

It, frankly, freaked Mark the fuck out.

But at least the rest of his friends were with him, and if needed he was reasonably sure they could get out of dodge. Hopefully before one or all of them were drowned in water that smelled like his high school locker room.That small beam of hope was something that Mark held onto as they walked down the mile down the road to where the entrance to the bog was. The small neighborhood they had moved into was surrounded by thick trees that bled into wetlands. Mark wasn’t looking forward to the summer battle against mosquitoes but at least the smattering of wild flowers was pretty. 

As they made their way along the asphalt, it seemed that no cars were on the road but plenty of people joined them on foot - or wheelchair. Mark was curious how in the name of god wheelchairs were going to make it through a bog, but Ms. Woo seemed to notice his stare. The old woman weaved closer to him, spiderweb veined hands lifting a lace veil over her hair.

“There is a bridge that gets put up during the day.” Ms. Woo motioned to an old man being wheeled close to them. “The bridge goes up in the afternoon and will be taken down in the morning.” Mark almost felt relieved. “The bridge is for those who cannot walk through the bog.” Ms. Woo looked him up and down then looked forward. “Those who are too young or elderly. It is part of the payment to those buried there to put in the effort to walk through if you are physically able.”

“I was really hoping you weren’t going to say that.” Mark already felt the mud in his shoes and they were still on the pavement. He wasn’t mentally, emotionally, or spiritually ready to begin to address the fact there were people buried in the bog.

Not that is surprised Mark that there were people buried there. He was an anthropology major and had read plenty of accounts of people being buried in bogs either as punishment or sacrifice. The most notable, of course, were the Irish and Scottish bog people who had been found perfectly mummified from the lack of oxygen in the peat. Mark hadn’t even heard of peat bogs in Korea but it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility. The wetlands around them meant there were more than enough plants to wilt, decay, and turn into the dense peat over the years. 

Mark also hoped that the bog was too acidic for leeches to thrive otherwise it was going to be an uncomfortable slog through the bog.

Because Mark was dreading the thing entirely, the walk seemed to pass in a blink of an eye. Before he could finish mentally preparing himself, they had arrived at the edge of the bog. Along the shoreline three people stood, at their back a large torch flickered brightly casting them in harsh shadows. Two women dressed in old ritual robes and to Mark’s confusion, a catholic priest in a thick brown woolen robe reminiscent of an old world friar. If there ever was a blasphemous act, _this_ would be it. A ritual to feed a bog was distinctly not any form of Christian. Not that Mark was in a position to say anything, he was there after all. Still, seeing the chunky wooden rosary hanging from the man’s neck gave him pause.

“We have some new faces. I am priestess Bon-Hwa.” The older of the priestesses stepped forward. The woman motioned to the girl next to her that looked around Mark’s age. “This is priestess Byeol and priest Sung-ho. Please stay close to the group. All those who cannot walk through the bog are encouraged to use the bridge.”

Priestess Byeol stepped forward, commanding more presence than her short stature normally would. “Light your candles with the torch as you pass. If your candle goes out you may light them off another candle from someone around you.”

The priest Sung-ho finally stepped forward motioning to the wetland behind them. “This is a bog. Please watch your footing and make sure you do not get separated from the group.”

Mark watched as they each filled a heavy brass thurible with hot charcoal embers before piling incense made of resins, dried herbs and flower petals. The thick white smoke immediately began to waft out of the holes in the metal. Mark wondered if the incense was to cover the smell of the bog, or if like a church it was meant to add to the ambience of the ritual. If he managed to survive this clearly poor life choice, Mark hoped the priest or priestesses would be willing to talk to him about the ritual and the specifics.

“ _Winged ones buried deep below._ ” The first priestess, Bon-Hwa, began to sing as priestess Byeol stepped forward with her to move into the bog, their thuribles swaying in time. “ _One for the sake of many. It was why you were sent. Godlings fed back to the earth. Forgive us. Die for us. We honor you. We remember you._ ”

Mark was ready to drop his candle and peace out when the crowd began to sing with the priestess. Led by priest Sung-ho, those who were walking along the bridge carried pots containing what Mark assumed was food as well as more embers and incense blend for the thuribles. Some of the ones on the bridge also carried instruments, drums for a low tonal beat, flutes wafting sad melodies, and bells. The children carried sticks of incense, all of them with a focused and serious face that would be comical in any other context.

“ _Winged ones buried deep below_.” The words found themselves clawing out of Mark’s throat. “ _One for the sake of many. It was why you were sent. Godlings fed back to the earth. Forgive us. Die for us. We honor you. We remember you._ ”

If one thing years of growing up in a church had prepared him for it was being able to keep a chant once he knew the words. Which became more and more impressive as they waded through murky water ranging from waist high to just a thin covering on the thick mud. The small part of Mark’s brain that wasn’t swept up in the moment was dreading having to scrub the smell of bog out of his everything.

If any of his housemates made a swamp ass joke, Mark would bury them in the bog.

Twice the priestesses had to stop to refill their incense burners. When the procession stopped the chant stopped and Mark could swear that he could hear the bog breathing around them. Mark could hear each ripple in the water, until he thought he was going to shatter from the vibrations. In the trees, the cicadas shrieked in the night air sounding too close to human screams for Mark's frayed nerves. Over their heads, bats swooped cose to the group to catch the insects that were enjoying a feast from all the warm bodies in the water.

The tallow candle had burned nearly halfway when the procession had finally come to a stop. The priest joined the two priestesses at the base of a giant stone that could only be the Heart. It was one of those things that couldn’t be mistaken even if Mark had wanted. The stone monolith stood what Mark would guess was every bit of eight feet tall. 

The smooth face of the rock was pitted and yellowed from age, the top of it slowly but surely wearing down over the years. Thick emerald green moss encased the lower half where it sank deep into the earth. It sat on one of the few solid patches of land, and surrounding it were smaller stone markers. In the low light Mark couldn't tell how many there were but at least a half dozen that had survived the long years.

Did the town bury their dead in the bog before the cemetery had been built?

_~Bāng wǒ.~_

Mark jumped, candle nearly falling from his hand as the words rang in his ear. It was as if someone had whispered them directly against the back of his neck leaving the hairs standing straight up. Glancing behind him, Mark frowned in confusion. There was no one there. Ms. Woo was moving to the front where the three leaders were pouring plum soju and candied berries at the base of the stone. The rest of his friends were scattered around watching curiously, though Jeno looked as uncomfortable as Mark felt.

More libations. More food. More burnt offerings. More chants.

One by one, each person was expected to step forward and drip some of their candle on the base of the stone. What should have been a simple enough process nearly had him on his knees. With each person that approached the stone Mark could feel the drips of wax as if they were hammer strikes against his skull.

“Mark?” Next to him Jisung whispered even though it felt like their maknae was screaming in his ear. “Are you okay?”

“Ye-h.” Mark pressed a hand to his temple. “Migraine.”

“You should go up next. Looks like everyone is walking back on the bridge.” Mark nodded not really thinking past trying to supress the urge to scream.

_~Bāng wǒ.~_

The words crashed against his brain even as he staggered forward. Like the countless others, Mark tipped his tallow candle so that a few drops splattered haphazardly around the others.

Time felt like it all but unraveled as the drops fell. Mark could see each bit of wax hang suspended in the air. The wax, perfect and spherical as the universe was birthed, withered, and died within the span of a heart beat. Somewhere in the scream deafening his ears, Mark heard his name called as his body hit the water.

Mark came back into his body as he was dragged up, coughing and sputtering. Around him, the people of the town were murmuring quietly. The priestesses and priest all watched him curiously.

“Mark?” Jaemin had abandoned his candle to haul Mark up. “Hey man, you okay?”

“I…” Mark’s bones felt like wet noodles. “I don’t...I feel sick. I need to leave.” The screaming in his ears had died down but the pressure behind his eyes had not. “M-m-migraine.”

Mark could barely focus on putting one foot in front of the other. At some point he was pulled up on top of the bridge and poured into a wheelchair.

“Mister….” One of the priestesses knelt in front of him. Mark registered the bright red hair of the youngest priestess Byeol.

“Lee.” Mark tried not to blush as she moved closer. 

“Mister Lee.” Cool fingertips brushed across his face. “Are you okay?”

“I...y-yeah.”

“Hmm.” The priestess held his face, jet black eyes burrowing into his own. Mark felt naked under gaze. “What is making you sick, Mister Lee?”

“I…” Mark choked on his tongue. The last time he had been this close to a girl it was during his high school prom and he was having a sexuality crisis in the back of her car. “I get migraines.”

“Migraines?”

“Y-yeah.” Mark winced at another wave of pain. “Sorry for making a scene.” 

One of the pregnant women had given them the wheelchair and Haechan promised to return it to her the next morning. Mark couldn’t bring himself to look at anyone while he was wheeled down the bridge. It was embarrassing enough that he had been taken out at the knees by a migraine at the worst possible time, but he felt ashamed that he needed to be wheeled back. It had been years since he had a migraine bad enough to render him this sensitive but it, of course, had to happen in front of the whole goddamn town.

The way home was quiet as all of them unpacked what they had just gone through. His six friends were all still reeling from the experience and the two neighbors were silent. What little conversation there was thankfully didn’t involve him so Mark was able to distance himself away from his body a bit to deal with the pain. It wasn’t that migraines were new things for him, but this was the one of the worst ones that had ever hit him.

_~Wǒ wúfǎ hūxī.~_

"What?" Mark looked over to their maknaes. Sometimes the two slipped into Chinese when they were talking with each other.

"Hm?" Chenle was helping Ms. Woo who had started to limp. "I didn't say anything."

"Oh." Mark hoped that hearing things was just from his migraine.

Out of pity, Mark was given the first spot for shower rotation. Initially he had tried to argue but Jeno had just whole ass picked him up and dropped him in the tub so Mark gave up the ghost. Jeno had, blessedly, kept the light off leaving the bathroom in the warm glow of Chenle’s dolphin nightlight. It kept the room dark enough that Mark didn’t feel like knives there pushing into his tender brain but also allowed him to navigate undressing and turning on the shower. Under the hot water he tried his best to scrub off as quickly as possible. Most of their bathroom items hadn't been unpacked but Jaemin had managed to dig out his body wash and conditioner for everyone to use. 

Somewhere between rinsing out his hair and checking for any creature that may have attached itself Mark ears started to ring again. In the hiss of the water he heard the voice again.

_~Bāng wǒ~_  
_~Bāng wǒ~_  
_~Bāng wǒ~_  
_**~Bāng wǒ~** _

"Mark?" Haechan stood at the door. Mark hadn't realized he had turned off the water and was crouched in the bathtub covering his ears. "Hey, are you okay? You were yelling."

"I-I…" Mark tried to straighten up but Haechan stopped him. "I think I'm hearing things."

"What are you hearing?" Haechan brought over his robe. Mark was grateful that his friends hadn't all come into the bathroom.

"I was yelling?" That didn't make any sense to him. The voice had been in his head.

"Yeah….Chenle said that you were calling for help." Mark arched an eyebrow. He had never called for help without knowing before no matter how bad his migraine had gotten. Cried, sure. Screamed, once or twice. Called for help? Never. "You...it. Mark, you were yelling in Chinese."

"I don't know Chinese." Mark felt stupid for saying it even before Haechan leveled a bland look at him.

"I know. Which is why it's weird you were yelling in it." Haechan gave him a meaningful look. "All I'm say-

"Please do not start with that psychic stuff Hyuk." Mark's nerves were already gone. He couldn't handle having that conversation for the billionth time.

"There are plenty of Catholic psychics and it's weird that you had a Chinese speaking inducing migraine that happened in a haunted bog." Mark glared balefully as he could. Around the door frame five sets of eyes peeked in. "But for now, let's get you into bed so the rest of us can shower."

Mark let them manhandle him out of the bathtub and into his room. During his talk with Haechan one of them, probably Jaemin or Jisung, had come in and pulled out clothes for him out of a neatly labeled box. Even his bed had been made.

If it wouldn't make his head feel worse, Mark would have cried. Usually, he was the one taking care of people. Mark often carried the maknaes to bed after a long day or a cram session for school. He had frequently picked Haechan and Jeno off the floor when they would fall asleep playing games. Jaemin and Renjun often caffeine crashed somewhere inconvenient and Mark would bully them into bed. Seeing the small act of kindness made his heart twist.

For as much as he wanted to go out and thank them for setting the bed up for him, Mark only had enough brains to get dressed before laying down. He couldn't even be bothered with the light. The second his head hit the pillow, he was out cold.

***

Mark knew, instinctively, that he was dreaming. His migraine dreams were always weird, but this one seemed to be _extra_ weird.

Mark stood back in the bog, the water lower than it had been during the ritual. Around him people were moving in the same procession, only this time there was no singing. There were herbs being burned in thick bundles and candles giving off thick black smoke like the tallow hadn’t been rendered correctly. Instead of being dusk, it was noon and Mark could feel the sweat on his body as if he were baking under the unforgiving rays like the people around him. The taste of dust from the road that should have been paved but was gravel sat heavily on his tongue.

At the front of the procession, two priestesses and a priest lead a man who was clearly drunk or drugged. The man was dressed in a simple linen shift that barely brushed his knees, two large men had an arm draped over their necks as they led him into the water. No pants or shoes or dignity had been given to the man despite the gentle coaxing of the two priestesses. Even being all but dragged between the two men, the half naked man’s steps were erratic. He weaved back and forth, stumbling several times as whatever was in his system fucked with his head. Out of curiosity and unable to do anything else, Mark followed the crowd of people into the bog. 

As they approached the Heart Stone, the man seemed to sober up for a moment. He looked around confused, with glassy eyes. When the wide black eyes met his own Mark’s breath caught and for a moment Mark swore so did the man’s.

One of the priestesses blew the smoke of herbs in the man’s face. As the white smoke curled around his head, the man stumbled back nearly falling into the water. The second priestess and the priest also breathed smoke at the man until Mark was sure the man would pass out from lack of actual air.

“ _Wǒ juédé ěxīn._ ” The man’s voice was slurred but the big black eyes found him again. “ _Wǒ wúfǎ hūxī._ ” Mark felt like a deer in headlights. The man began to reach to him, tears sliding down his face. “ _Bāng wǒ_.”

Mark stumbled forward, body moving through those around him. Mark didn’t know what would happen if they managed to get the man to the middle for the bog but he instinctively knew it would be bad. The mud was thick and Mark almost missed the waist deep water as he fought to keep himself from getting stuck like the people behind him.

“ _Bāng wǒ._ ” Mark managed the final few steps before something in the bog caught his foot and Mark landed on the man.

Just like before, the scream of the cicadas pitched higher until Mark thought his ears would bleed from the ringing. Around them, time hung suspended. The crowd of people all seemed frozen midstep, not even the smoke had moved an inch. Not that Mark could really focus on them, not when all his attention was on the man gaping at him. 

The man held his face, the black eyes flashing a bright blue easing the pain in his head for a moment before it returned. “ _Mark._ ” The man’s voice was a disbelieving whisper even as soft fingertips traced his face. “ _Mark Lee_.”

The cicadas screams pitched higher still, and Mark fell off the man’s lap into the mud, holding his head. Mark was afraid if he moved his hands away his head would split in half. With hazy vision he watched as a village lured the man the last few feet to the Heart Stone only to force him down into a freshly dug hole as he screamed. It broke Mark’s heart to watch him thrash, large silver wings unfurling out from the man’s back and flapping desperately. Mark cried as the priest used a stone to deliver a blow to the head, the angel’s body going limp and the bog itself reaching up to claim its sacrifice. 

Even though Mark knew he was dreaming, it didn’t feel like a dream. No dream had ever broken his heart this much. 

Mark crawled through the mud until he was at the base of the stone. Somewhere beneath his half sunk palms, Mark could _feel _the man packed deep under layers of dense dirt. More horrifyingly, Mark realized that the man was awake and alive despite being unable to breathe or move.__

__The words still echo in the silence of the bog, voice defeated as if the man didn’t expect to be heard._ _

___~Bāng wǒ.~_ _ _


	2. Fractured Realities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What would I tell them?” Mark curled down. “Hey doc, I get migraines where I sleepwalk around my house and talk in Chinese.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I added the translations next to the Chinese since there is a lot going on- S

_~Nǐ néng tīngdào wǒ ma? (can you hear me?)~_

Mark was half asleep when a voice drifted through the air filling him the dread. He didn’t have to look at the clock to know it was late, he laid down barely ten minutes before. The voice wasn’t loud, it was soft and mournful, which was a blessing after the last few days. Often, the voice that had become the world’s most madness inducing version of tinnitus was loud. Sometimes it was so loud it felt like Mark was standing directly next to a speaker and it was all he could hear.

For the last three months, as soon as the sun started to dip below the horizon Mark would get a sudden spike of pain in his brain that would drag on for just a few hours or well into the next morning. The migraines that had started up felt different from the migraines he had grown up with. The pain was less intense than a regular one, most of the time. The new pain made his brain feel like it was being squished under a hydraulic press instead of bashed by a nail studded bat. Another notable change was that he could still _hear_ the voice crying out.

At first, the words had been the same mantra: Help me, please help me, someone please help me. As heartbreaking as it was, Mark had gotten used to hearing the same string of words. However, at some point he had begun to hear the voice speak other words, all still in Chinese. A one sided conversation that he was becoming more and more convinced wasn’t some prolonged fever dream. Not when he had switched out an art class for a Chinese Language one at the start of the semester. Granted, he was only three months into learning the language, but the professor, Chenle, and Renjun all put their heads together trying to help him decipher the words.

There were two logical conclusions that Mark was willing to accept. First, the sudden uptick in migraines had scrambled something in his delicate brain meat and he was getting auditory hallucinations from fried neurons and pain. Or second, he had developed a form of Schizophrenia - never mind he had none of the other symptoms that were associated with the condition.

A third conclusion that Mark was _not_ willing to accept was of course the one that everyone else agreed on: he was a psychic and had caught the attention of something. 

_~Nàlǐ hái xiàtiān ma? (Is it still summer there?)~_

“Yes it is still summer.” Mark pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes. “It’s hot and muggy and the air smells like unwashed ass because of the bog.”

_~Nǐ xǐhuān xiàtiān ma, Mark Lee? (Do you like summer Mark Lee?)~_

“Yeah, I guess.” Mark _did_ like summer. Just not this summer in particular, too much weird shit had happened. “Me and my family would go camping.”

Unsolicited, memories rushed to the front of his mind. Summers spent running in the sun or swimming in cool water. Vividly, like he was reliving them instead of simply recalling, Mark felt things. The heat of the sun, a cool, sweet bite of watermelon, the smell of the lake freshly thawed from winter. Mark felt like he was back on the hot sand, the cool breeze from the water making the hair stand up on his skin while his parents waved at him from under a bright red beach umbrella.

Predictably, the longer the memories stretched the worse Mark felt. It was as if all his senses were cranked to 10 and his body could not take the overload. Just breathing made Mark hyper aware of his own body causing more pain.

“Stop, stop, stop, stop.” Teeth grinding, Mark tried to breathe through the pain.

At least his brain guest was cordial. Anytime Mark got overwhelmed, the thing that was bringing everything up would instantly back off. 

_~Wǒ xiǎngniàn tàiyáng. (I miss the sun.)~_

At the start of this, Mark had dug around each nook and cranny of the house that was available to him - including the attic filled with a hundred years worth of dust - looking for something. Anything. The idea that he was hearing a random voice was ridiculous, and Mark would not take his life turning into a Conjuring movie without a fight. 

Graciously, his house mates had allowed him into their rooms to look around, and even spent a day they should have been studying to search the house with him. For all their hard work and detective skills, they had found a whole lot of nothing. No demonic dolls, no mold, no record of anyone dying violently in the house, no possessed VCR playing a video on a feedback loop. Just cobwebs, frustration and the occasional spider. Sometimes, usually when the sleep deprivation was talking, Mark wished it was something as simple as a haunted doll. At least then they could get an exorcism or something and he would be able to sleep at night.

What made it more maddening was none of his housemates ever heard the voice. When asked, and even when he wasn't, Renjun would mutter about a murdered angel in the bog - which Mark refused to believe no matter how many books about it there were, thank you. They all believed him that it was happening, which saved him from feeling completely hopeless. The six of them had found him enough times curled up in a corner muttering in Chinese, eyes half rolled up in his head. It wasn’t much of a comfort that they believed him, but at least they would scrape his ass off the ground and help him get to some place quiet to unscramble himself.

_~Wǒ xiǎngniàn māmā. (i miss my mom.)~_

"I swear to god." Mark glared at the ceiling, eyes burning from how tired he was. Already there was an all too familiar pain building up behind his eyes. "If I ever find out Hyuk is behind this, I'm gonna fucking kill him." The threat felt good to say even if it was empty, Haechan had nothing to do with the voice that haunted him. Placing the blame on a person, even if he knew better, made the situation feel more real life and less like a ghost story that he had somehow fallen into. 

_~Nǐ céngjīng àiguò ma, Mark Lee? (Have you ever loved, Mark Lee?)~_

“Why does that matter at midnight?” The silence he was met with pissed him off. “Yes, once. Happy now?” More silence. “I have to be up in like six hours, can I please sleep now?”

From classes that started at nine am, to his part time job at the Very Haunted Bookstore, to tutoring lessons on his days off, Mark’s days were packed to bursting. Which would have been hard enough if he had been getting enough sleep. But after moving to the little two story house and being dragged out for the Feeding Ritual three months before, Mark’s sleep had sharply declined. If he wasn’t hearing voices, or struck down by migraines that had him babbling in a language he didn’t even speak, Mark was having dreams about being buried alive. Mark wasn’t sure the migraines or the panic attacks were worse.

Every day had been the same thing in a never ending cycle. Mark would drag his exhausted ass from bed, drink enough coffee to make Jaemin cringe and trudge off to school. In school he would catch glimpses of eyes in windows or the feeling of someone breathing against his ear, if he was lucky - or on the floor half blind in pain if he wasn’t lucky. After classes ended for the day, Mark would slam another cup of coffee then drag himself to either work or the long line of tutoring lessons before finally collapsing into bed to wait for his brain to forcibly shut down.

_~Zhǎo wǒ. (Find me.)~_

“I don’t know where you are.”

*

Predictably, Mark was still exhausted by the time he had to go meet up with Johnny and Taeyong. His hyungs didn’t need tutoring but they wanted to help him get his credits, so Mark tutored Taeyong in English while Johnny wrote some bullshit on the paper and signed their names. Mark hoped that Johnny and Taeyong wouldn’t mind that his brain was primordial jelly slushing between his ears. Likely, the two would fuss over him for not sleeping. Again. As if he wouldn’t love to do anything more than sleep at night.

Finding an available table in the corner of the cafeteria, Mark slumped in the chair and laid his head down on the plastic coated grate. Valiantly, he tried not to think about the bird shit that probably clung to the table, or the very likely reality of someone’s bare ass having graced the surface. For all its pitfalls during the week on Saturdays the cafeteria was _quiet_. The blanket of white noise from the tables of people chatting mixed with distant noise of cars driving past allowed his poor brain to take a few precious moments to rest. If Mark listened really close he could hear the bubble of the coffee stand on the other end of the courtyard. He could pick out Yuta playing his guitar and singing while Sicheng hummed in harmony with him. Somewhere in the corner, Jaehyun was kissing Doyoung as they both pretended they weren't dating.

_~Nǐ xūyào chī diǎn dōngxī. (You need something to eat.)~_

The words made him jolt straight up, nearly causing Johnny to drop a carrier of precious coffee. Mark sincerely hoped that the voice in his head was not going to make a habit of commenting on his life during the day. It was bad enough he couldn’t sleep or that he had migraines, but messing with everything would guarantee him having a full breakdown.

"You look rough." Johnny leaned back, hand moving to cover his mouth mid yawn. It made Mark feel better that he wasn’t the only tired one, but only barely. "Haechan and Renjun keeping you up all night?"

The innuendo sent his eyes rolling back into his head and then back around. Waiting until after he accepted his coffee, Mark scoffed but there was no bite. He was too tired from three months of barely sleeping that he couldn't even form a reply. It's like his brain was stuck in perpetual jet lag. 

“No.” Mark brought the cup to his lips simply to breathe in the steam. He _shouldn’t_ be drinking more coffee. He was probably taking years off his heart at this point. “I’ve just...I haven’t been sleeping well.”

Taeyong's big eyes that never seem to reflect light bore into him in the uncanny way they did. Not only that, they reminded Mark of the eyes from the man he had seen in his dream being buried alive. The same wide shape, and terribly expressive considering how Mark felt like he would be crushed under their weight. Perhaps it was because of his dream, or the fact that nothing ever seemed to reflect in his eyes, but Mark hadn’t gotten used to being pinned under Taeyong’s gaze.

Johnny may have been his friend for years, but Taeyong was a recent addition to their little group. He was a local kid, a little shy and awkward, but Johnny had fallen hard and fast. Taeyong's family didn't approve but Taeyong had since packed his bags and moved in with Johnny. Taeyong was unfailingly kind, but sometimes he weirded Mark out. It wasn’t anything he did intentionally, Mark doubted Taeyong was capable of intentional cruelty. Their Yongie always gave solid criticism when asked but preferred to build them up. Frequently Taeyong would harp on everyone to be nicer to themselves, often reminding them failing wasn’t a bad thing. Mark considered Taeyong to be within his circle of closest friends.

But sometimes.

Sometimes, Mark found himself being watched by large black eyes that occasionally forgot to blink. Or Taeyong would say something in response to what Mark _knew_ he didn't say out loud.

“So if the lover boys aren’t keeping you up, what is?” Johnny sipped at his coffee like it would bring back the hours of sleep lost to his thesis paper.

"The house might be haunted? Or something." Picking up his coffee cup mark swished it a few times before taking a drink. Mark isn’t sure why he was hesitating, it wasn’t like his problems were a secret, shit even his professors knew he was struggling with ‘health issues’. Mark had told everyone but Johnny and Taeyong for reasons he couldn’t quite name. But he’s tired, and at the end of his rope. "Every night since I moved in, I hear a voice talking to me."

"Sexy." Johnny grinned but Taeyong leaned forward, eyebrows knitting together. “Is it pillo-”

“Hush, Johnny. This is serious.” Under the most intense Taeyong Gaze to date, Mark tried not to squirm in his chair. "Mark, what does the voice say?"

"Bāng wǒ. Bāng wǒ. Qǐng bāng wǒ. Yǒurén qǐng bāngmáng." The words flowed off his tongue perfectly. Hours and hours of hearing them had branded them into his memory. "It's Chinese. They're saying Help Me."

The silence between the three of them was heavy. Johnny is staring at him in shock, like he was half waiting for the punchline. Under the fluff of pink hair Taeyong looked almost pained? It’s a look that Mark didn’t know how to interpret, so he didn’t.

"That's…" Johnny shifted forward, face falling into a grimace behind the cap of his coffee. "That's fucked up Mark."

"I _wish_ I was kidding. It’s getting worse too." Mark fiddled with the lid of his own coffee cup. “I’m hearing it when I’m awake. I’m seeing things in windows. I’m having fucking conversations with it.” Mark’s hand began to tremble and frustrated tears crawled into his eyes. “I get migraines and go to bed only to wake up in a different place than my room.” 

“Have you seen a doctor?”

“What would I tell them?” Mark curled down. “Hey doc, I get migraines where I sleepwalk around my house and talk in Chinese.”

“You...you don’t sp-”

“ _I know I don’t speak Chinese Johnny._ ” Mark gritted his teeth. Buried under the exhaustion was fear that something was wrong with him. Demonic possession. Schizophrenia. Just a straight up break from reality for no reason other than maybe he contracted some parasite in the bog.

Mark needed just one person to talk to that wouldn’t call his mom or a psychiatric ward. Even if he would have done the same in their shoes.

"I have...a theory. Well, Renjun has a theory but I'm starting to believe." _In for a penny and all that._ "Did you know there is a local legend about the bog?" Mark looked up into Taeyong's black eyes then quickly away.

When Johnny and Taeyong both shook their heads no, Mark didn't quite believe them. At least, not Taeyong. Something in the back of his mind insisted that the dancer knew more than he let on, especially since Taeyong had lived his whole life in the town. If Taeyong knew something, maybe Johnny did too. Which was a little insulting, but Mark was too tired to address it. 

For now.

Abandoning his cup, Mark pulled out a thin Urban Legends book that Renjun lent to him the day before from his backpack. The cover wasn’t exciting but the high gloss image of a cemetery caught people’s eyes like it's supposed to. A bright pink slip of paper with **READ ME** written in Renjun’s neat handwriting was tucked between the yellowing pages. Flipping it open to the marked section, he slid it over to them. 

Taking up one whole page was a grainy picture of the bog, the smooth white monolith of a stone covered in ages of mud and moss sitting dead center. The picture had been taken sometime in the fifties, but the stone had been in the bog for longer than anyone could remember. It had always been a place to make sacrifices to the gods, and as such the bodies of humans and animals were buried at its base. Or so the book had said.

Mark attempted to talk with the two priestesses and the priest but the three were tight lipped. Mark had been given tea, as custom, told the bare minimum that he was sure was a well scripted PR spiel about The Old Ways, and then sent off. Not even bringing up that he had heard something in the bog made them blink.

"It's said an angel came down during a famine." Mark sipped his coffee while Johnny and Taeyong looked over the image and the little story next to it. "They called him Yukhei. He brought the village back from death itself." If looks could kill, Taeyong would have burned a hole in the book. "He saved them and...and in return? They fucking buried him alive in the bog."

Something dark passed over Taeyong's face. Something cold and mean that was at odds with the man that Mark knew. Yeah, Taeyong could unnerve him but he was always kind. The look was that of...anger? Mark didn’t think of Taeyong as the religious type, but he didn’t know much about Johnny’s boyfriend yet. It could be that Taeyong was upset about this person being hurt, angel or not - Mark himself was angry on Yukhei’s behalf. 

Johnny's gaze was on Taeyong, a hand resting between the wide shoulders. With a reluctance even Mark could feel, Johnny asked, "Do you believe it?"

"At this point? I'll believe anything." Picking at the cardboard sleeve of the cup Mark shrugged a shoulder. “If you take away the possible, and all that.”

Mark _had_ ran through every other plausible scenario. He had even considered some of the _less_ plausible ones. Hell, Mark and his housemates had tried to do a seance just to cover all of their bases. The only thing that came from that was a candle falling over and getting thick red wax in their nice carpet.

"Haechan and the others have never heard the voice." Mark could feel the telltale pressure behind his eyes building. Soon he would be feeling the weight of eyes on him that weren’t there. "Our neighbors are little old ladies who are asleep by sundown." Out of habit Mark swished his coffee cup again then set it down. "If it was one of Hyuk's jokes the punchline would have been weeks ago. So I'm going insane, or something is out there."

"Then the next time you hear it, you should help." Taeyong stood suddenly. The older looked conflicted, but tried to smile anyway. "Bye Mark. I'll see you at home Johnny."

Mark watched as Taeyong wove through the crowd with his dancers grace. Watching Taeyong move was like watching ink curl in water. All fluid and beautiful and impossible to replicate.

"Don't go into a peat bog at night." Johnny flipped through the few pages of the book that talked about the Bog Angel. "Those places are like tar pits. But maybe…" Mark dreaded the words he knew were coming. The words he'd been saying to himself all day. "Maybe you should check it out?" Johnny held out the book to him.

"I knew you were gonna say that.” Mark sighed heavily, face pressing back down against the table. He would go back to the stupid fucking bog if it meant he could sleep again. "At least it's the dry season. The water isn't that deep. I think. Maybe waist high." It wouldn’t be pleasant, but if there was a time to go stomping around a bog it would be now.

"Just be careful okay?" Johnny suddenly looked very serious. "Call me when you get home?" Mark nodded, already resigned. "Keep your phone in a zip lock bag just in case. If you get stuck call me and I'll come pull you out."

"O-okay." Mark didn't know what to make of the situation. It was the weirdest he'd ever seen Taeyong act - and Johnny for that matter. It was like they knew something he didn't which left him confused and annoyed. “I’m going out tomorrow.” Johnny nodded but didn’t offer to go with him like Mark had hoped he would. “I’ll let you know when I leave and when I get back.”

Parting ways and picking up another heart attack in a cup from the coffee stand, Mark made his way home. The whole time he thought about the bog. About the person begging for help. The bog itself was small, maybe a mile long and twice that wide. Maybe not so small. Especially since Mark had no idea what he was looking for. But the words kept echoing in his head. _Help me. Help me. Help me._ He had to at least take a look around. Mark was morally obligated. 

"Hang on one more night okay?" Mark murmured as the bus passed the bog. "I'm...I'm coming for you. Just hang on."

*

“ _Mark Lee._ ” Mark turned at the sound of his name, to find himself back in the processional. Again.

On the ground Yukhei was looking at him.

“Who are you?” Mark knelt next to Yukhei, eyes closing as the touch of a large hand soothed the pain in his head. “What are you?”

Yukhei didn’t answer, not that he ever did in these dreams. Instead, Yukhei held his face between two soft palms. Mark wasn’t sure why, but nights where Yukhei holds his head like this made the pain bleed out allowing Mark to truly rest. The fingers that carded through his hair left him dizzy in the absence of pain. Crawling into Yukhei’s lap, Mark accepted the reprieve and if possible, fell asleep in his dream.

*

When he woke up Mark felt marginally more rested than he had in the last week. He couldn’t recall most of his dream, past the soft black eyes. If he never remembered anything else about his dreams and night terrors, it was those eyes. Mark doesn’t ignore the fact that his dream could have been brought on by reading about the bog angel for the billionth time. That his guilt over not looking into anything for three months could have manifested itself into a hyper realistic dream. 

Not that it mattered anymore. Dream or not, insanity or not, he had to go check out the bog. And if he died, like every other idiot in a horror movie, at least he wouldn’t die feeling guilty.

Over breakfast, Mark drank his weight in coffee while Haechan danced around the kitchen. Being the first of the month, their first paychecks had hit allowing for them to buy actual food. Thick cuts of bacon and fresh eggs from the little farmers market sizzled on the hot cast iron griddle next to another pan packed full of potatoes. Normally, they didn’t go for a heavy western breakfast but Haechan had wanted to cook and Mark didn't argue. He would need the carbs if he wanted to trek into the heart of the bog.

Under the heat of the August sun the bog, to no real surprise, smelled like ass. During the dry season, the water receded leaving patches of mud to bake in the unforgiving sun giving off the scent of rotten eggs. Not that smell during the wet season is much better. The wet season, as described by Taeyong, brought plague worthy hordes of mosquitoes and something that could only be explained as smelling like the color brown. 

_Mark: I’m heading out_  
_Johnny: be careful_  
_Mark: you could come with me_  
_Johnny: sorry man, Yong isn’t feeling good_  
_Mark: man you’re a bad liar even over text_  
_Johnny: I am a great liar, I’m American_  
_Mark: when you come over after I get home, there better be Taeyong Brownies waiting for me_  
_Johnny: I’ll put your order in. Call me if you get stuck_  
_Mark: you are not inspiring good feelings Johnny_  
_Johnny: I’ll explain when I see you tonight_  
_Mark: NOT GOOD FEELINGS JOHNNY_  
_Johnny: Yong says to be home by sunset and he’ll have brownies_

Armed with a wetsuit under his shirt and shorts, hiking boots, his cellphone in a bag, and a lot of fake confidence Mark began to pick his way through the bog. 

Unsurprisingly, the hike through was more complicated than he had remembered from the processional, especially as he neared the heart. In the processional, there had been a whole group ahead of him so Mark didn’t have to worry about whether it was safe or not to step down. This time, he had picked up a fallen branch to poke at the sections of ‘solid’ ground to make sure he wasn’t going to be sucked into a hole Indiana Jones style.

Something Mark discovered and was unspeakably grateful for was the network of little bridges that had been installed over the years. The thick wooden slats allowed him to move from patch to patch of solid ground. Ms. Park said there had been talks over the years to put in an official system to bridge the wider gaps. A boardwalk that would take people through and around the bog, but it had never gained much traction despite being a protected landmark. The biggest off put was bugs, followed closely by the smell, then the three priests all saying it would disrupt the mass graves that the bog held. There was also the fact that the town was still relatively small and needed the money for other things. So instead, the little bog remained as it had always been and every few years someone would come through and put in new boards for the land bridges.

"Hello?" Mark called out. He felt a little foolish talking to the bog like he was going to see something other than a herd of unimpressed deer. But the voice had asked for help and he was in the only place that made sense to be, so maybe? “I’m here! Where are you?”

Nothing. The only sounds that greeted him were a cold silence and the low hum of bugs that happily chewed away at his exposed skin. 

Sighing heavily, Mark continued to pick his way through the bog and another hour passed.

The sun had begun to go down and Mark was tired. He was covered in slime and goo and thick mud from head to toe. It had taken hours and hours of navigating the bog’s dry patches and little bridges to finally reach his destination - something that had seemed _much_ easier during the ritual. On several occasions he had stepped down only to be nearly swallowed by the water. The unseen drops along what he had assumed was solid ground forced him to double back and find new ways to move forward. Mark knew it would be a miracle if he had any blood remaining in his body after this, considering the amount of mosquitos that had made a meal out of him. 

By some luck or another, Mark found the second half of the path that the town had taken during the ritual. Three months later the mud still held clear shoe imprints and the occasional half melted tallow candle. The stone was twice as tall as Mark, the mud and moss and lichen still covering its surface in thick layers. It's clear that the stone had been in the spot for ages, and that once it might have been pretty to look at. If Mark looked close enough, he could see the remnants of what might be words scratched onto the surface. Likely a name had been worn away by time and weather leaving only the barest hints in the rock face.

Unike last time, Mark was able to look at the stone without his head trying to split open. He couldn’t help but wonder if the stone or the land was the thing that was haunted. Mark hadn’t heard the voice calling out until he had come to this place. Haechan and the others had come with him but none of them had experienced sleep deprivation via pleas for help.

_This is fucking ridiculous._ Mark huffed sitting on the small patch of dry-ish grass, body finally too tired to move another step. _Someone has to be fu-_

_~Bāng wǒ (help me) ~_

"I'm here." The bog remained as empty as it was moments before but the voice was louder now. Clearer. And _definitely_ in his head. "Where are you?"

_~Bāng wǒ (help me)~_

"Not helping me." Standing again Mark walked around the stone pillar. “Where are you dammit. I fucking came out, the least you could do is be helpful.”

_~Qǐng bāng wǒ (please help me)~_

"I am going insane." Mark rested his head against the stone. "I have to be. I'm hearing shit. I'm in the middle of a fucking _bog_. Clearly I've lost it."

_~Yǒurén qǐng bāngmáng! (someone please help me)~_

"I'M TRYING!" In a fit of rage Mark tried to kick a rock. 

And because no good deed, or attempted good deed, can go unpunished: Mark fell backward. As he careened, arms flailing about, he couldn’t help but think of the bog angel in his dream. Of how his arms wheeling in useless circles resembled the beautiful silver wings. 

For a moment, one terrifying moment, Mark thought he saw someone watching him from the small cluster of trees. Was he the next bog angel?

Mark hit the water with a graceless _splat._

The water was low, barely enough to reach his ribs while sitting but the mud was _thick_. It pulled at him like it was hungry, like if he sat too long the vines that rose up to pull Yukhei down into it would grab hold of him too. 

Then to his horror, Mark realized it wasn’t the mud tugging at him. It was fingers. In his fall, Mark's hand sank to his elbow and _something_ was trying to grab him.

"What the fuck, what the-" In a rather unsexy crawl on his hands and knees Mark slipped and slid his way back down to the solid ground. “ _What the fuck was that?_ ”

_Bāng wǒ! Bāng wǒ! (Help me! Help me!)_

For the first time the words weren't mournful. They're desperate.

"This is how people get eaten." Mark looked down again at the water filled hole where he had just fled from. He then looks up at the sky, "Still enough light."

_Bāng wǒ! Bāng wǒ!(Help me! Help me!)_

"Please don't be a zombie or something."

Carefully, Mark moved to the 2 inch ass print where he was just at, and began to dig. And dig.

And dig.

A foot deep Mark nearly gave up. He had been trying to convince himself that nothing could possibly survive, when he scooped out a chunk of thick mud and a hand grabbed his wrist. The hold was nearly enough to crush his bones but when he cried out the fingers loosened.

_Qǐng bāng wǒ! (Please help me!)_

"THEN DON'T GRAB ME LIKE THAT!" Mark smacked the hand. " _Jesus._ "

Following the angle of the arm Mark unpacked a foot of mud a few inches at a time. He was partially relieved that the hand connected to an arm and both seem to be intact - unlike every other zombie movie. The mud and peat were thick, making progress slow and painful as the sun sank lower and lower. When there was barely any sunlight left, Mark started to get anxious. He would rather not have to run through a bog at night. 

Still, he kept digging.

The arm connected to a chest. The chest stretched out to another arm. Mark thinks he must be truly mad now, completely out of his damn mind. Mostly, because he's relieved when the two exposed arms start to clear away mud too.

"Finally putting in some work huh." Mark mumbled to himself. While he worked at uncovering two long legs, the hands worked on uncovering its face. Which could be foolish, could not. If it _was_ a zombie, at least Mark wouldn't be feeding his hand directly into a mouth. “Must’ve felt like a pancake stuck under all this.”

Mark knew when the head was uncovered. Partially from the gasp that bled into gagging and then a cough. That part was because when the person? Angel? Swamp monster? Fought his way up, there was a particularly stomach churning _suck_ of mud as the man struggled free.

When the man could finally sit up, he spoke out loud for the first time. "Xièxiè." 

Mark was proud of himself for not screaming. For keeping his eyes down, wondering if he could buy a few minutes more before he's ripped in half or something. But with the person now fully uncovered there was nowhere to look but up.

A muddy hand brushed his cheek. “Xièxiè, Mark Lee.”

"Xu..xi? Is that your name? I don't speak Chinese." Finally, Mark’s breath catches in his chest. Under the thick black mud and bits of roots clinging to the skin, the man is _beautiful_.

But for as handsome as he is, it's not enough to distract from the two fleshy appendages stretching out with a rather grotesque crack of bones. Mark now knows he's lost it because instead of being afraid of something nefarious, he wants to laugh. The appendages look like chicken wings that had been plucked clean. Or, more tragically maybe, that the bog had melted the feathers off leaving the skin bare. 

Somehow, seeing featherless wings felt more like a violation of privacy than the fact the person was naked.

"So uh." Mark looked around at the nearly black woods. "Well I should try to get - oh." 

Cold muddy hands cupped his face and Mark wanted to be anywhere but locking eyes with this stranger. He wanted to hide under a rock or tree or something. The man's eyes bore into him just like Taeyong's did.

"Thank you." The words are clumsy, and the Bog Breath burns his nose. "Xièxiè, it means Thank You."

"Now you speak Korean." The retort slipped out before he could catch it.

"You were too far away before." The mud covered lips curved into a smile. "But you found me. You heard me." 

Mark thinks for a moment that he’s going to be kissed. Which wouldn't bother Mark, except for the fact that if this was Yukhei then 500 years of bad breath was hidden behind the soft lips.

"Yes. Well." Mark looked up at the nearly black sky. Already his stomach was twisting in dread. The bog was completely dark now and Mark didn’t think he would survive the night. "I have to get home. Somehow."

"Yes. Let's go home."

Using the flashlight on his phone Mark picked his way carefully through the bog. With the...the…whatever Yukhei was. Since Mark had a wet suit on under his clothes, he gave the shorts and shirt to Yukhei. Since Yukhei was covered in mud he doubted it mattered the clothes were water logged. The acid of the bog had not only melted the silver feathers but had also dissolved nearly all of the linen shift he had been buried in. This way, when they would finally make it back to the edge of the bog, Yukhei could keep some of his dignity.

“Don’t step there.” Yukhei caught his arm. Mark wanted to point out that this was the same route he had taken just hours earlier. “The bog and its guardians are upset with you.”

“What does that even mean?” Yukhei pulled Mark close to his body, featherless wings circling around him protectively. “What is happening?”

“They spent the last...I don’t know how long honestly.” Yukhei tensed a few times then bared his teeth to something in the distance. “The bog had been slowly digesting me. It’s alive and angry that you took it’s meal.”

“I hate _every_ part of that.” Mark’s heart was beating so fast that he felt faint. “How do we get out?”

“Hold on.” Mark yelped a little when Yukhei lifted him up.

The speed at which Yukhei moved was not normal. Not for a regular human being, least of all someone who had been buried under a foot of peat for five hundred years. The trees blurred by, the animals all making distressed noises as Mark tried not to think about what a hungry bog would do. What if it ate all the animals that dwelled in it? The squirrels, the birds, the turtles. Had he condemned an entire ecosystem to ruin by saving Yukhei?

Did it matter?

Mark loved animals, even the creepy bugs that squicked him out. But Yukhei was a person, one that had been crying out for help. Mark didn’t want anything to die but he couldn’t leave another human being - or whatever Yukhei was- to be ‘digested’ by the bog. There had to another way to feed the bog - and god, Mark hated that idea too.

When Yukhei finally stopped they were at the edge of the bog. To Mark’s surprise, Johnny and Taeyong sat waiting for him on the little bench stuck into the ground. If they were shocked to see Mark had come back with another person, one who was covered in mud, they showed no signs. The two didn’t even blink when Yukhei raised his bald wings to protect Mark.

“I had a feeling you were the one he heard.” Taeyong tilted his head but made no sign of moving. “You must be Yukhei.”

“I don’t want that name.”

“What name do you want?” Taeyong leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees.

“Mark?” Yukhei pressed their foreheads together, hands rising to cup his jaw. Every time Mark looked into the man’s eyes it felt too intimate with how intense it was. “What’s my name?”

Mark floundered. _He_ was expected to pull a name out of the air for a veritable stranger? Still, Yukhei - or Not Yukhei, as it were - held his gaze unwaveringly. Mark tried to ignore the first names that cropped up - John, Paul, Peter. Even if by some fucked up twist of fate the man turned out to be an angel none of them seemed to fit.

“Luke?” Mark tried but then shook his head no. “Lucas?”

“Lucas.” The man smiled bright and luminous as his namesake. Lucas pulled Mark back to his chest, though the wings finally uncoiled from around them. “My name will be Lucas.”

“Well Lucas.” Taeyong cut in, eyes looking off into the bog. “Johnny will get Mark home, and you’ll come stay with us.”

“ _No._ ” Lucas took a step back and by proxy took Mark with him. “I want to stay with Mark. He’s my-”

“You can see him in the morning.” Taeyong leveled a steely look. “They’ll come looking for you. Do you want them to find Mark?”

“I don’t want to go back.” The arms around Mark trembled, the heart in his chest beat wildly under Mark’s hand. 

Mark was conflicted. He didn’t want to get in the middle of whatever silent conversation was going on between the two but he also wanted to know what ‘back’ meant. Back to the bog? Would someone really try to bury him alive again? It was one thing for them to do the ritual centuries after something happened, it was a whole other thing for them to perform human sacrifice in fucking 2020.

“You can come home with me.” Mark offered feeling suddenly protective.

“No, he can’t.” Taeyong stood, eyes moving to glare at something in the bog. “You don’t understand the danger that you’ve put yourself in.”

"Then explain it." Mark held Lucas tighter. He couldn't quite shake the feeling that if Lucas left now, Mark would never see him again.

"The priests." Taeyong kept his eyes on the bog, lips dipped into a deep frown. "The three of them have a pact with the bog. They feed it, the bog keeps them alive. Their bodies remain in an unchanged state."

"Are you…" Mark couldn't stomp down the incredulous look that crept up. "Are you seriously saying that those are the same three that...that…" 

As if his brain had been hit by a brick, pain lanced through Mark's head. In horrific detail Mark could see the three's faces as if he was looking through Lucas' eyes. Unchanged, unwavering, devoid of any mercy. 

_Come back to me._

Then the dirt hit his face - or rather Lucas' face. The taste of mud and terror and crushing loneliness filling up every part of his body until Mark felt himself weeping through the waves of it.

_Come back Mark Lee._

For just a moment, the haze glitched. The reel of memory flickered and was replaced by one of him swimming in the ocean. The blues of the water, the soft sand, the smell of salt. The echo of his Dad playing guitar.

By degrees, Mark came back into his body. Despite collapsing at some point, he wasn't on the ground. Instead, he was curled up in Lucas' lap while Johnny crouched next to them trying to coax him to drink from a water bottle.

"You're anchored in too deep." Taeyong touched Mark's forehead and the relief was instant. "Way too deep."

"It was an accident." Lucas sounded as terrified as Mark felt. "He found me and I didn't realize the connection had formed."

"Separating the two of you right now will just end up hurting Mark." Taeyong sighed heavily. "You're both coming back to our place - don't argue Mark. Lucas, you'll have to carry him. The migraines make him dizzy."

Mark wanted to argue but Taeyong had scraped him off the floor enough times that he couldn't. Closing his eyes to keep from getting sick, Mark focused on anything but the man carrying him.

The birds were silent, not even the owls that hunted the bog at night made a sound. It reinforced the fear that the bog was going to eat every living creature within it now that Lucas was free. And if the bog was hungry enough, would it start to eat other people? Would it send it's three priests to find it a meal?

How many humans did it take to equal an angel?

*

Mark allowed himself to be bullied through the shower, gratefully accepted a spare toothbrush, and then promptly fell face first onto the guest bed. The pain in his head had receded enough that it no longer felt like someone was crushing his skull with each breath or heartbeat. If he wasn’t half asleep he would have laughed at Johnny trying to teach Lucas how to brush his teeth while Taeyong spoke in a language that sounded like nothing Mark had ever heard.

“Mark?” In the doorway Lucas stood in a pair of flannel sleep pants. “It’ll be better if we sleep next to each other.” Mark arched an eyebrow but didn’t argue, not after what had gone down in the last few hours.

The heavy weight of another body curled around his was nice. Mark hadn’t had anyone in his bed in nearly a year that wasn’t one of his friends drunkenly passed out. The soft fan of breath against his neck would have had him bright pink, as would the hand up the front of his shirt drawing lazy circles on his stomach but he was tired. Since he saved Lucas from the swamp, he hoped that he would be able to sleep without any weird nightmares or voice calling out.

“It’s going to be okay, you can sleep.” Lucas’ hand splayed out and pulled their bodies together. “I’ll protect you.” A kiss pressed behind his ear making Mark shiver a little. “Rest.”

The moment Mark’s eyes slipped shut, he fell into a blessedly dreamless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Say hi to us on Tumblr!  
> https://bang-channies.tumblr.com/
> 
> hey kids we got a twitter:  
> S - https://twitter.com/hardstansonly  
> K - https://twitter.com/BChannies

**Author's Note:**

> translations:  
> Wǒ wúfǎ hūxī: I can't breathe  
> Bāng wǒ: Help me  
> Wǒ juédé ěxīn: I feel sick
> 
> Say hi to us on Tumblr!  
> https://bang-channies.tumblr.com/
> 
> hey kids we got a twitter:  
> S - https://twitter.com/hardstansonly  
> K - https://twitter.com/BChannies


End file.
